The Pendragon Legend (16 page)

“They had twice tried to kill you before I arrived. You certainly had cause to think that one of your new guests might have come with bad intentions.”

“I did have my reasons for suspecting Maloney.”

“As for myself, I can see now that, thanks to his cunning, I arrived here fully equipped to arouse even greater suspicion that he did. I seemed to present the bomb on a silver salver.”

The Earl smiled.

“Well, as you’re so generously finding reasons to excuse my behaviour, I think I should do the same. Since I invited you, why should I have doubted you?”

“For a start, it must have been suspicious that I was Maloney’s friend.”

“May I just ask,” he interposed, “had you known him long?”

“No. I’d met him just a few days earlier, at the British Museum.”

“How’s that? You met him after I’d invited you here?”

“Yes. It’s obvious now that he attached himself to me in order to accompany me here, no doubt to divert suspicion onto me.”

“Have you any idea how he, or those who sent him, knew of your intended visit?”

“Absolutely none.”

“Then I fear there’s a spy at Llanvygan. There’s no other
explanation
. Who could it be? But please continue.”

“Maloney told Osborne, and no doubt Osborne passed it on to you, that I’d only gone to Lady Malmsbury-Croft’s to make your acquaintance and to get myself invited here. That is certainly not the truth. You must forgive me, but I am a foreigner, and until that day I had only a fleeting knowledge of Your Lordship’s
existence
.”

“I know. I’ve spoken since to Lady Malmsbury-Croft. She said you didn’t particularly want to attend her soirée.”

“Anyway, I arrived here in highly suspicious circumstances and at a particularly bad moment. You’d not even had time to rest after that attempt on your life in London. And all the
circumstantial
details were somehow linked by the ring I gave you on my arrival. Though I must say I don’t fully understand the story behind the ring.”

“I don’t either. To be more precise, how did it come into your possession?”

This was difficult. I ought to have told him of my meeting with Eileen St Claire, but I don’t like breaking my word. I gave a
nervous
cough, and said:

“I can’t tell you that. I gave my word of honour not to reveal who I got it from, even though this was the first time I’d ever met that person and I’ve no real idea who he or she really is. All I know is that Maloney introduced us.”

“Very good,” said the Earl. “I know who it was. So shall we continue?”

“Given the situation, you were absolutely obliged to take some security measures against your guests.”

“I’m really sorry, Doctor. I have to confess I gave Rogers only the most general instructions. I have no idea what he actually did.”

“The first thing I noticed was that the cartridges had been removed from my revolver.”

“How very embarrassing,” he said, and reddened.

“Apropos of what happened, may I ask your Lordship to have them returned to me? I’ve no others in my possession, and I hope I never will have. But I don’t sleep well if my revolver isn’t loaded. I can’t help it—it’s become a habit.”

“You shall have them back at once.”

He got up and rang the bell.

“Do please continue.”

“At the same time my suitcase was searched and a small packet removed from it.”

“Do you know what was in the packet?”

“The fact is, I’ve no idea. Maloney gave it to me because he said it wouldn’t fit into his rucksack.”

“There was trinitrophenol in it. Again I’m terribly sorry, but one is sometimes nonplussed by the unexpected. I’ve never had a guest bring high explosives before. I’d already gathered, by the way, that it came from Maloney.”

Rogers re-appeared. The Earl instructed him to have the park searched to see if anyone was hiding there, and to return my cartridges.

“Thank you for your confidence, My Lord. But may I now ask a few questions?”

“Please do, Doctor. I’ll answer them if I can.”

“I’d like to know how my innocence was established. Because I have to admit, appearances were all against me. I feel every bit as awkward as a rather nervous person would who was told someone had picked his neighbour’s pocket and taken his gold watch. I’d like to believe I was free of suspicion.”

“Well, it became more and more evident that Maloney was up to no good. The only way to shoot at me was through that window, and only a wonderfully gifted acrobat could have climbed the caryatids to the second floor.”

“But that isn’t proof that I wasn’t an accessory.”

“Gradually I got to know more about you through things Cynthia and Osborne said. I made inquiries in London, and I saw you flirting in the Library … ”

“Excuse me?”

“With my books. Your way of life isn’t compatible with
premeditated
murder. I don’t think you’d even pick a flower, you have such a horror of any form of violence. I don’t intend any praise by this. You are neither a good man or a bad man: the intellectual type cannot be forced into either category. You could be capable, out of selfishness or love of comfort, of omitting to do things which any decent man would do for his fellow creatures. But you would be incapable of doing anything which might deliberately hurt another. You’re too passive for that.”

“Thank you for the diagnosis. I’m afraid it’s an accurate one, My Lord. But would such psychological inferences be enough to acquit me?”

“Absolutely. People rarely do things that are diametrically opposed to their own natures. Our friend Maloney will never take an interest in neo-scholastic theology. Cynthia will never become a professional singer. Osborne will never succeed in doing up his tie in the approved manner.”

“From which it follows that Maloney, instead of engaging in
neo-scholastic
theology, will continue to make attempts on your life.”

“Quite certainly. I have no doubt I’ll meet him again. Or, if not him personally, then someone else. My enemies are as patient and resourceful as the Borgias. At times I feel almost proud of them. And there’s so much money at stake I can understand why they spare no expense or effort.”

“So you do know, My Lord, whom you’re dealing with.”

“Of course.”

“William Roscoe’s heirs?”

“Let’s leave it there. It’ll all come out in the inquiries after my death.”

I could see that I’d reached an impasse. His natural reticence would allow him to say no more.

“And what do you propose doing to protect yourself?”

“Not a lot. I try to keep out of harm’s way.”

“By what means?”

“For the time being I’ve sentenced myself to house arrest in the castle. With Maloney gone there’s little danger now in Llanvygan. I’ll bide my time here. He who laughs last … And I would urge
you, Doctor, to stay with me, as long as you possibly can. I know how selfish it is of me to ask, when I simply want to keep you here to enliven the tedium of my imprisonment. But I’ll do whatever I can to ensure that your time isn’t wasted.”

“My Lord … ” I began, trying to devise some grand formula to express how glad I would be to stay after what had been said. It was the simple truth. But I always have trouble with these little speeches.

“So you will stay,” he pronounced. “A wise decision. The books you’ve seen so far are certainly not the most interesting. I haven’t yet given you access to the family archives that hold the truly rare material. Now it’s all there for you. And, as far as I can with my limited knowledge, I’ll give you whatever information you want, with pleasure.”

He opened a mirrored cupboard that stood behind him—I hadn’t even realised it was there—and a pile of ancient yellow pages was spread across the desk.

We sat there reading for ages, thoroughly absorbed and in
raptures
of delight. Every so often we would read out some specially interesting sentence to each other, and discuss it. Here was Fludd’s correspondence with Asaph Pendragon, the text of Fludd’s
unpublished
treatises and the minutes of the English Rosicrucians, all material of incalculable scholarly significance.

The following weeks and months, which I would devote to the thoroughgoing study of all these writings, rose up before my mind’s eye—as a processional dance of learned bacchantes, their faces lit with divine ecstasy, each brandishing not a thyrsus but a manuscript in her hand.

I was waving one myself—a codex, in a very old calligraphic style, the so-called Friar’s Gothic. I had no idea what it was, and couldn’t place the curious lily-patterned binding, or the
remarkable
parchment on which it was written. But there was something strangely solemn about its appearance.

“What exactly is this?” I asked.

“You light upon treasures like the magic wand of the Venetians. That is quite possibly the most valuable work in the entire library. It’s the T-book, the one the old alchemists and Rosicrucians wrote so much about.”

“You mean, the book actually exists?”

“It’s in your hand. It contains their ultimate wisdom.”

“So this is the book!” I cried. “This is the work mentioned in the
Fama Fraternitatis
. This was in the tomb of Rosacrux himself. It’s one of the secret holy books!”

The Earl smiled a strange little smile, and said nothing.

Rather as Faust did with the book of necromancy, I opened the codex and eagerly began to read. I was half expecting some instant miracle to occur: darkness would fall and, in a roll of
thunder
, the Spirit of the Earth would rise up before me in all its
awesome
grandeur.

The next moment I felt thoroughly ashamed of my naivety. The book was no different from all the others containing ‘the ultimate wisdom of the Rosicrucians’. Its message was allegorical and so opaque I understood not a word of it.

The only bits of text that stuck in my brain were those written in the familiar Greek—the delightful but meaningless motto of the Persian sage Osthanes: ‘’
E physis te physei terpetai. ’E physis te physei nika. ’E physis te physei kratei
. (Nature delights in Nature. Nature conquers Nature. Nature governs Nature.)’

“When was this written, and by whom?” I asked the Earl.

“No one can say. It’s impossible to narrow it down by analysis of the contents. It may even be the Latin translation of an old Arabic text. The manuscript itself originates in the fourteenth century.”

“And what is it about?”

“So far as anyone can understand it, it’s about the way life can be prolonged for hundreds of years.”

“And does it give specific instructions, or does it, like the other books, confine itself to allegorical generalities?”

The Earl pondered a moment, then answered quietly:

“You could say, it offers instruction to those who understand.”

“Oh, My Lord … one question. Do you think anyone has ever understood these mysteries?”

“Oh, yes. Fludd, for one. And Asaph Pendragon.”

For a while he said nothing, but gazed at me searchingly.

“There is a fund of human wisdom, some primal revelation, of which all human knowledge is a mere dilution,” he went on, in the
same quiet tone. “But people forgot it in the very process by which they became able to think rationally.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “This has almost become a scientific truth. The myth-system of every nation begins with the wisdom of an ancient lawgiver: Hamurabbi in Babylon, Hermes Trismegistos in Egypt … ”

“And all the great thinkers felt certain that truth had been given to man in some remote, primordial past. Think of Atlantis, in Plato’s
Timaeus
… There was once a world, a great island, that sank beneath the sea. The drowned island could be just a symbol of the magical modes of understanding sunk deep in human
consciousness
, that surface only now and then, in the form of dreams …

And there have always been individuals, or secret societies,” he went on, “who insisted they were the guardians of some ancient knowledge. From the Egyptian priesthood it was passed down to the mystery cults of Alexandria; from the Alexandrians to the Hebrew Kabala and the Gnostics; from the Gnostics to the Knights Templar and from the Kabala to the late-medieval mystics, Pico della Mirandola, Pater Trimethius, Cardano, Raimundus Lullus, Paracelsus and finally the Rosicrucians. The Rosicrucians are the last link in the chain … ”

“And then?”

“Then came the Age of Reason. People started to think methodically and scientifically. They invented the steam engine and democracy. So the ancient knowledge now exists as a
paradox
: our rational minds can’t fathom it, just as we can’t fathom the superstitions of the negroes. What followed—occult science—was nothing but fraud and parody: Rational Man’s fancy dress frolic with the irrational. The eighteenth-century Freemasons, the spiritualists, the theosophists, St Germain and Cagliostro all claimed to be thousands of years old. Of course they were lying. On the other hand, lots of people falsely claim that they know the Prince of Wales, but does that make his existence a mere
superstition
? We just can’t grasp these things with our modern patterns of thought. As we see it, the body is a machine which in time wears out and breaks down. But Asaph Pendragon and Fludd knew that human life could be prolonged at will.
Physis physei kratei
. Nature governs nature.”

He stood up again and crossed the room with his long strides.

“My Lord … so many people had the secret of making gold—even if none ever actually succeeded—so why is it that those who knew how to prolong life never tried to put that into practice?”

From somewhere in the depths of the enormous room his voice answered:

“Why are you so sure no one has?”

In that moment everything I knew about the Earl’s experiments flashed across my mind. The huge axolotls whose lives he
suspended
for years on end and then revived … and the rumour that he’d had himself buried and dug up again …

Then other, even wilder connections, began to dawn on me.

“My Lord,” I shouted, as I sprang to me feet. “This afternoon we went to the old castle.”